The gun was pointed at my chest.
I'd never had a gun pointed at me before. It was smaller than I expected—compact, black, boring-looking. Like something you'd buy at a hardware store. But the hole at the end looked massive. Big enough to swallow my entire future.
"Drop the crowbar," the man said. His voice was calm. Practiced. He'd done this before.
The crowbar slipped from my fingers and hit the concrete with a dull clang.
"Smart kid." He gestured with the gun. "Now step away from the cages."
I didn't move. Couldn't move. My legs had turned to stone. Behind me, I could hear the hostages breathing—short, panicked gasps. One of them was crying.
The man with the gun stepped closer. "I said move."
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
COMBAT INITIATED
ENEMIES DETECTED: (×3)
ENEMY LEVELS: 8, 7, 6
YOUR LEVEL: 2
ANALYZING TACTICAL OPTIONS...
"What's that?" The man's eyes narrowed. "Your phone? You calling someone?"
"No," I said quickly. "No, it's just—"
He fired.
The bullet hit the wall six inches from my head. The sound was deafening. Concrete dust exploded across my face. My ears rang.
"Next one goes in your leg," he said. "Then we'll have a real conversation about who you work for."
Who I work for?
They thought I was someone. A rival gang. An undercover cop. Someone dangerous.
I was a broke college student who couldn't even afford textbooks.
But they didn't know that.
My phone buzzed again. Harder this time. Insistent.
SKILL RECOMMENDATION: DECEPTION (UNTRAINED)
CURRENT CHARISMA: 5/10
SUCCESS PROBABILITY: 34%
ALTERNATIVE: IMPROVISED COMBAT
SUCCESS PROBABILITY: 8%
ALTERNATIVE: SURRENDER
SUCCESS PROBABILITY: 0% (WITNESSES PRESENT - ELIMINATION LIKELY)
Thirty-four percent. Better than eight. Better than zero.
I forced myself to breathe. To think.
"You're right," I said. My voice came out steadier than I felt. "I'm not just some random kid."
The man's finger tensed on the trigger. "Go on."
"I'm with the Vipers." I picked a gang name I'd heard on the news. "East side territory. Your boss has been moving product on our streets. That stops tonight."
Behind him, the other two gang members exchanged glances. One of them looked nervous.
The man with the gun didn't blink. "Vipers don't operate this far west."
"We do now."
DECEPTION CHECK: SUCCESS
CHARISMA +1
NEW SKILL UNLOCKED: INTIMIDATION (BASIC)
The nervous one spoke up. "Dex, man, maybe we should—"
"Shut up." Dex kept the gun trained on me. "If you're really Vipers, where's your backup? Where's your ink?"
Ink. Tattoos.
I was screwed.
"I'm a scout," I said quickly. "New recruit. Backup's outside. You really think I'd walk in here alone?"
Another glance between the gang members. The nervous one was sweating now.
Dex smiled. "Prove it. Call your backup."
My phone buzzed.
INCOMING CALL: UNKNOWN NUMBER
I pulled it out slowly, kept my eyes on Dex, and answered on speaker.
"Status?" A voice crackled through. Deep. Authoritative. Definitely not from anyone I knew.
I nearly dropped the phone.
"Uh," I said. "Situation is... complicated. Three hostiles. Requesting backup."
"Acknowledged," the voice said. "Strike team is two minutes out. Keep them talking."
The line went dead.
I looked at Dex. "Two minutes. You want to be here when they arrive?"
For the first time, doubt flickered in his eyes.
The nervous one grabbed his arm. "Dex, we gotta go, man. If the Vipers are really—"
"They're bluffing," Dex said. But his gun lowered. Just an inch.
TACTICAL WINDOW DETECTED: 15 SECONDS
RECOMMENDED ACTION: STRIKE NOW
My hand found the crowbar. Dex saw the movement and raised the gun again—but I was already moving. Muscle memory from the earlier fight kicked in. I swung low, aiming for his wrist.
The crowbar connected with a sickening crack. The gun clattered to the floor.
Dex screamed.
The other two rushed me. I barely got the crowbar up in time to block the first punch. Pain exploded in my shoulder as the second one tackled me.
We hit the ground hard. My head bounced off concrete. Stars exploded across my vision.
DAMAGE TAKEN: 15 HP
CURRENT HP: 35/50
A boot slammed into my ribs. Then another. I curled into a ball, trying to protect my face, my stomach, anything vital.
I'm going to die. I'm actually going to die in a condemned building over a stupid cat.
Then I heard it. Sirens.
Not close. But getting closer.
The kicking stopped. "Cops!" someone shouted. "Move!"
Footsteps. Running. The sound of a door slamming.
And then silence.
I lay there, gasping, every breath a knife in my side. My phone was buzzing nonstop. Notifications piled up:
COMBAT COMPLETE
VICTORY ACHIEVED (TACTICAL WITHDRAWAL)
+200 CREDITS (BONUS)
+1 STRENGTH
+1 AGILITY
SKILL IMPROVED: IMPROVISED DEFENSE (BASIC → INTERMEDIATE)
NEW SKILL UNLOCKED: COMBAT AWARENESS (BASIC)
EMERGENCY MISSION UPDATED:
HOSTAGES REMAIN. EXTRACTION REQUIRED.
POLICE ARRIVAL: 90 SECONDS
Ninety seconds.
I forced myself to my feet. Everything hurt. My ribs felt broken. Blood dripped from somewhere on my face.
The hostages were staring at me. Six pairs of eyes. Six people who'd be dead or sold or worse if I didn't do something.
The cages had padlocks. Standard combination locks.
My phone buzzed.
LOCK CODES ACQUIRED
DOWNLOADING...
Numbers appeared on the screen. I stumbled to the first cage and entered the code. Click. The lock opened.
The girl inside—maybe nineteen, bruised and terrified—crawled out. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you, thank you—"
"Not yet." I moved to the next cage. "Can you walk?"
She nodded.
I opened the other cages. Five more hostages emerged, blinking in the dim light. One boy, four girls. All young. All traumatized.
"Police are coming," I said. "Sixty seconds. When they arrive, tell them everything. Tell them about the drugs, the gang, all of it. You're safe now."
"What about you?" the first girl asked.
Good question.
I couldn't be here when the cops arrived. A mysterious app, criminal courier work, assault with a crowbar—none of that would go over well with law enforcement.
"I'm nobody," I said. "You never saw me."
I grabbed the crowbar and ran.
Outside, the sirens were louder. Red and blue lights painted the construction site. I slipped through the fence and disappeared into the maze of abandoned buildings.
Three blocks away, I collapsed in an alley—different alley, same garbage smell—and checked my phone.
EMERGENCY MISSION COMPLETE: RESCUE HOSTAGES
5,000 CREDITS TRANSFERRED
TOTAL BALANCE: 6,700 CREDITS
CONGRATULATIONS! LEVEL UP!
YOU ARE NOW LEVEL 3
RANK PROGRESS: 47% TO E-RANK
NEW STATS:
STRENGTH: 4/10 (+1)
AGILITY: 6/10 (+2)
INTELLIGENCE: 6/10
CHARISMA: 6/10 (+1)
LUCK: 2/10(Still terrible)
SKILLS ACQUIRED:
Improvised Defense (Intermediate) Combat Awareness (Basic) Intimidation (Basic) Deception (Basic)
And at the bottom, a new notification:
SPECIAL MISSION COMPLETE: LOST CAT
800 CREDITS TRANSFERRED
BONUS: +100 CREDITS (EXCELLENT SERVICE)
CLIENT FEEDBACK:
"Mr. Whiskers came home safe! Thank you so much! Five stars!" —Margaret Chen
I laughed. It hurt my ribs. But I laughed anyway.
Somewhere in the chaos, in the fighting and the terror and the sirens, Mr. Whiskers had found his way home.
My phone buzzed one last time.
ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: FIRST RESCUE
TITLE EARNED: "THE TWELVE PERCENT"
DESCRIPTION: Completed a C-Rank mission while severely underleveled. Survival odds were 12%. You beat them anyway.
REPUTATION +50
UNLOCKED: HIGHER DIFFICULTY MISSIONS
UNLOCKED: SPECIAL CLIENT ACCESS
A new message appeared. Different format. Official-looking.
FROM: HERO FOR RENT ADMINISTRATION
Congratulations, Kane Rivera. Your performance has been noted. You have been invited to accept Premium Missions from Verified Elite Clients. These missions offer higher rewards, exclusive bonuses, and accelerated progression.
WARNING: Elite Clients have higher expectations. Failure is not tolerated.
First Elite Mission available in: 48 hours.
Prepare accordingly.
I stared at the screen.
Forty-eight hours to recover from broken ribs, process the fact that I'd just saved six people and fought three gang members, and figure out how to explain to my landlord why I was paying rent with money from a mystery app.
Two days to become the kind of person who could handle "Elite Missions."
What have I gotten myself into?
My phone buzzed. A text from Mom.
Mom: Are you sure you're okay? You sound stressed.
I looked at my reflection in a puddle. Blood on my face. Torn shirt. Bruises already forming.
I typed back: Never better, Mom. Just aced a really hard test.
Not a lie. Not really.
I'd survived. Six people were free. Mr. Whiskers was home.
And I had seventy-five hundred dollars in my account.
I pulled up the banking app and sent Mom two hundred dollars with a note: For groceries. Love you.
Then I started the long walk home.
Somewhere above me, my phone was already loading the next mission.